All the countless new souls walking alone
by Moltie
Summary: Spike is once again stood up. And walking home, again, he doesn't know what to do about himself. And why Angel is causing him so much pain.  Spike/Angel. One-shot. Read and review please.


Spike looked at the time, his watch said it was 5.32, the huge café clock said it was 5.27, but it really didn't matter which one of the two that was telling the right time. Point was it was way later than 3.30, later than okay. Okay had passed a long time ago, and Spike took one look at his now cold cup of coffee and realized that that itself was proof. He wasn't going to show up today either. Angel was late. Again.

Spike got up from his chair, a few of the other guests at the café looked at him funny, and Spike could understand them. If it wasn't for the fact he was a bleached to death, literally, tall guy wearing a black leather coat and, if he could say, extremely good looking boots, but that raised eyebrows wherever he went, they could also be looking at the poor sod who had been waiting at a café for countless hours, and that obviously had been stood up. Spike got a sudden urge to bite everyone there, but then he remembered he didn't do that anymore.

Leaving the café, he wondered what excuse Angel would come up with this time. Dragon that had to be slain, damsel in distress needed to be rescued. Perhaps a god damn bus filled with 6 years old had been attacked by demons. Spike didn't care, he didn't want to hear it and he sure as hell didn't want those oh my god I'm sorry my jobs so important I'm an angel-Angel-excuses which always flooded out of the guys mouth whenever he needed them. Spike was tired of them, and he was tired of Angel. Tired of watching coffee getting cold. If Angel knew what a damn boring occupation it was, watching coffee getting cold, Angel would understand him. But no, mr I'm so important even my cat gets mail from the government had once again, forgot to call. Forgot to cancel beforehand. Forgot his date. Spike kicked a nearby garbage can and ignored the pain in his toes, instead he checked his phone for messages but no, not a voice mail and not even a text message. Just silence. It made him even more furious. How important could it be, whatever it was he'd been stood up for? Had Buffy died and come back to life again?

If Spike had been smarter, he thought to himself as he passed some teenagers on the way to some disco or night club or whatever it was kids spent their nights at, he wouldn't put up with this shit. No, if he had any kind of spine, like he used to, he would tell Angel that he could fuck off, and then go out, get drunk, and find something else that was shaggable enough for the night. Instead, Spike was once again walking down the streets of nothingville, feeling like crap. Why was it likes this?

Falling in love, Spike thought to himself when the earlier thoughts about being stuck had vanished, wasn't something he was really used to. Not that he was sure that this was a case of the falling in love-disease. Probably wasn't. Why would it be? Love. Could that be the word used to describe all this? Being stood up at one café after another, waiting countless hours in front of the phone for a message, a call, something that told him that he was still thinking about him, that he was still on his mind? A small voice in the back of his head seemed to tell him that it was. He ignored it, thinking it was probably some leftover madness in his brain since the government had put a chip in there. Nothing real, like the rest of his mind. Nothing real like the rest of the feelings exploding in his body.

Anger. Sometimes Spike wondered if anger was enough to replace the sorrow, the disappointment that he always caused him. All the empty feelings in his gut when he once again seemed to be the one who was used. It was Angel on top of things, always. Like he had ever felt like someone could tear him apart with empty words. With just the not-showing-up-act that he himself was an expert on. Spike doubted it. For some reason he couldn't see Angel torn, Angel awake in his bed looking at the time, watching the phone with eyes demanding it to start ringing right now. He couldn't see Angel waiting in a coffee shop for that many hours, and then leave, without his date even showing up. Spike didn't know if it had ever happened, but he sure as hell couldn't see it. No one would leave Angel waiting.

He sure as hell wouldn't.

For some reason he knew in the back of his head that tomorrow Angel would return his call, another excuse and then he would come over with that smile on his face that Spike had grown to love, and not just because of too much liquor, but because of the smile itself. Spike didn't know when it had changed, when he somewhat turned from liquor to feelings and found himself finding some kind of sick, twisted comfort in the arms of a somewhat former enemy. And when he had turned into a lapdog once again, making sure that whatever he did was for him, and that he wouldn't complain, and wouldn't show emotions, because as long as he got to stay in his arms, the problems seemed to go away.

A girl walked past him, her eyes told him nothing. But he wondered if she, as well, had been stood up that day.


End file.
